


Ephemera

by NikaAnuk



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Memories, No Beta, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaAnuk/pseuds/NikaAnuk
Summary: My first text for the Great Library series event!





	Ephemera

From the first year, Santi kept all the correspondence they exchanged. In a secret place far away from his room, he kept hidden notes they left for each other and the letters they wrote during that time. But only from the first year, The more you trust someone, the more terrible things you will tell them and in time they started to be more and more open about doubts and that became more and more dangerous.

It started innocently enough. Santi chuckled, searching through the metal box to find this very first note that Wolfe left for him; on a small peace of paper there was only one sentence there in black ink: _I'm watching you_ – left in a book he was reading.

That freaked him out but also made him more careful around the Library and it didn't take him long, before he noticed the dark, gloomy teen watching him. He didn't do the best job to hide and it didn't take Santi long to figure out who the guy was. Not the safest crowd to be around.

“What's your problem?” he asked one day but Wolfe only looked at him and left. Not the most chatty person ever then. But there were no more notes. Santi was busy with other things and he forgot the incident

He got then the next paper. _Book two_ – it read this time.

Wolfe kept an eye on him then; Santi was working on something that time and next thing he knew, there was this note in his bag. As creepy as it was, it saved him a week of reading old books that did not have the information he needed. So he tried to say 'thank you' but with the same effect – Wolfe ignored him.

He didn't do it to anyone else either - Santi asked around. It seemed like he was determined to creep Santi out.

_Don't approach me _\- was the next message, this time in his pocket. When did he even managed to put it in there?

Wolfe always sat at the same table – usually alone – and so next day, Santi left him a card there asking _What's your problem?_

Some of the pages that Santi went through were covered in their scribbles. They would write and answer on the same page and once there was more to say, the conversations took longer and longer.

Some of them were illegible now, but some he could still make out.

_Most honourable Scholar, would you pass me the ink?_

_You are being ridiculous. I'm not yet a Scholar. _

_But you will be one day? _

_Of course, what else could I be? _

_You sound full of yourself..._

_I don't sound at all. I may /seem/ full of myself but we are not speaking._

_If you think I do, you are wasting my time. _

_You are being very pricky today. More than usual I mean. What's the matter? _

And there was no response. He got his ink in the end but they didn't go back to that conversation.

He got some of the letters there as well. But it was mostly just pieces of paper with messages from Wolfe. They were taught to preserve the writings; he did with the most important ones.

_Tomorrow after the nightfall, can you find me?_

He could, and he did. They met and talked, face to face, for the first time. Santi didn't know what Wolfe expected but for him, it seem like a good idea to meet and maybe spend some time with no obligation to one another. They were to meet, and maybe talk and maybe something else... But in the end they walked the streets for hours, until the night started to fade and Wolfe was talking in quiet voice and they were discussing about serious matter that Santi never though about before and that was the best night in his life.

There were the darker days sometimes. Notes written in messy writing, with marks of ink; then followed quick replies, filled with worry and the sickening waiting if there will be another message.

_In these dark rooms where I live out empty days,_  
I wander round and round  
trying to find the windows.  
It will be a great relief when a window opens.  
But the windows aren’t there to be found –  
or at least I can’t find them.  
Perhaps the light will prove another tyranny.  
Who knows what new things it will expose?1

If he could, he just went to find him, but that happened rarely. Tied up with his tasks and Wolfe fulfilling his duties, they didn't have much time they could spend together. Not even if Wolfe needed it.

Wolfe could not speak of his feelings. Or anything personal at all. Maybe because he was too careful with what others could read, but if he wanted to speak of something that was important to him, he would use words of other people. Santi never quite understood why would that be a good thing, but then, he was not going to be a Scholar.

There was the one: already when Santi got this message, the paper was creased and a delicate, like it was held in nervous hands for too long. The handwriting however was clear and decided. If Santi was to guess, it was written at least twice before, because the hand was steady and he knew his verses. Now, the paper was even more worn out after he read it so many times. The day he found this one – in the pocket of his coat while travelling away from Alexandria for few days of training – he read it constantly, until he memorised it. And even then, he read it over and over again the text, the ink fading and the paper getting damp.

Now, he picked it up carefully, to read it once again, trying to remember the excitement he felt that day, knowing that whatever they did, it left a lasting impression on Wolfe; that despite his cool attitude, it meant something to him.

_Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile._  
The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky,  
the yellow shore; all lovely,  
all bathed in light.  
  
Let me stand here. And let me pretend I see all this  
(I really did see it for a minute when I first stopped)  
and not my usual day-dreams here too,  
my memories, those images of sensual pleasure.2

At that time, it made him blush. Now, he read it again with a nostalgic feeling. They went through so much since that time. That first kiss, those impatient hands sliding under the clothes...

  
Not all those notes were important or groundbreaking for them but he even kept those notes saying seemingly nothing.

_I will see you in a week. _

_Come to see me. _

_Won't be there._

_I can't meet you. _

_Write to me. _

All that was his history with Wolfe. And he remembered when he got them and what he was doing. Some of them made him question his sanity at time – was the message supposed to be ambiguous or was this just him reading in them something that was never intended?

He read through them sometimes, especially if they didn't see each other for a long time. One day he would throw them away. But for now, he wanted to keep them, fading memories of his beginnings.

Lle 03.08.19

1 _The windows by C.P.Cavafy _ <https://theendlessbeginning.wordpress.com/2013/07/04/the-windows-by-c-p-cavafy/>

2Morning Sea by C.P.Cavafy, <http://www.cavafy.org/poems/content.asp?id=67&cat=1>

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, this fandom is for me the excellent excuse to find gay poetry and to fangirl over old texts. #notsorry


End file.
